Each Thursday, the Colorado Daily’s Christy Fantz dishes out finely honed advice to the hopelessly lovelorn souls of Boulder. Got a question? Send it to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Not long ago, you wrote to a woman who had a boyfriend with a foot fetish and mentioned that you had rather large feet. I know it’s probably rather inappropriate for me to ask, but I was wondering if you could send me pictures of the soles of your feet?
But don’t be afraid of your fetish. You should see what’s under my bed. Ahem.
You can’t have a picture of the soles of my feet. They are in a pretty serious union with my flip-flops in the summer and my Converse in the winter.
You should see how pissed the Converse are right now. Oh dear. Jealous bastards.
Really, though, you honestly don’t even want a picture of the soles of my feet.
I have what doctor’s like to call “Circle K Feet.”
My flip-flops are sewn to my feet from March until October, providing for months of some dirty big-soled babies.
The bottoms of my feet look like the asphalt in a Circle K parking lot.
Hey, I’ve come to terms with it so you shut your mouth.
I mean, sometimes I wash them (if they’re lucky). But I also am not a fan of cleaning my kitchen tile. So we have a dirty little vicious cycle here.
Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she’s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to email@example.com
And yes, a handful of nights in the summer they’ll stay pristine under the care of my holey Converse, which are in dire need of a summer vacation (when it’s not 98 degrees Kelvin out).
But we can revisit this in November.
However, at that point I get a little lazy about painting my toenails because the smell of polish bothers my mismatched socks. And oh boy I don’t want to piss them off. They’re worse than the Converse.
When is it acceptable to say ‘I love you’ in a relationship? I’m not positive if my boyfriend and I are to that point yet.
— Not Sure
Well, Not Sure, you’re clearly not sure. So I’m not sure.
I have always been one to avoid overuse of the phrase.
I don’t know why. Probably because I was raised by a pack of rabid chupacabras who only barked “bitch” at me.
I kid. My fam is rad.
Anyway, I don’t think you can put a time limit on this. I’ve only said “I love you” to four damn lucky dudes over my many years of dating.
First one: High school sweetheart. It was probably after a year or so. It was cute. We were young.
Second, third, fourth: Probably within a month. Yeah, I know. Pump the breaks there, tough girl. After the second and third, I wanted to kick my own ass. But they were foreigners. I place the blame there. Yeah! Take that.
See, we really make a big deal out of this phrase. I know I do.
But I guess if you love someone, just say it. The worst that will happen will be a breakup leading to depression, pill popping and sedating yourself with alcohol. You can handle that.
Anyway, I personally hear it all the time because I’m kind of awesome (and not at all conceited). It makes me feel all Fantzy in my pantsy.
But every situation is different, so I can’t really tell you when to say “I love you” to your BF.
Do you? Then say it. If he freaks out, pretend like you yelled “Justin Bieber!” He’ll be confused.
But also, just remember: When he does freak out, he has probably only uttered “I love you” three times: Once to his mother, once to his hand and once to whatever naked porn chick is on his computer screen.
If he panics, let him have the hand. You have other dudes to freak out.